Sick Day

by Morgan Parker

  Gordo laughed like it was no big deal. “I’ll swing by with a bag of cash tomorrow.”

  “How about a cashier’s check?” the salesman suggested with an arrogant smirk that told me he dealt with moneymakers like Gordon on a daily basis.

  Once we left the dealership, Gordon told me he had a friend he wanted me to meet at the Burnham Park Yacht Club. “Josh ran the mortgage lending program at Wachovia before Wells took them out. He’s still unemployed, but keeps busy with some of his other interests like slum-lording and futures trading.”

  I groaned, sliding a little deeper into the seat at the prospect of meeting yet another of Gordon’s rich and spoiled friends who could easily be one line away from an overdose. “These guys are out of my league, Gordo. I just need a new job so I can get through this wedding.”

  He smacked my knee, a big smile on his face. “Me too. But Josh knows all the players. Tell him your story, and he’ll have the decision-makers calling and offering you a job.”

  “I have to be home earlier tonight. Riley wasn’t impressed about last night.” No, not impressed at all.

  Gordo kept driving, but I watched his eyes blink while he steered the BMW through traffic. “How’s that working for you, Cam? Two weeks ago, you were hanging out at the office and hoping for a chance meeting with this high school fling of yours.”

  “I love Riley,” was my diplomatic, seasoned response.

  Gordo liked that; he laughed. “Yeah, I love her, too. But really, how’s it working out?”

  I stared out the passenger window as we cruised down Lake Shore Drive.

  “You know something, Cam?” Gordo said, his voice softer than I had remembered hearing it over the past few weeks. “Marriage takes a lot of work. It’s like that shitty chinaware your mother wouldn’t let you touch as a kid. One small nudge and it’s broken.”

  I kept staring out the window, not really interested in what he had to say, but listening anyway because Gordo didn’t listen to the radio while he drove unless it was Bloomberg.

  “Sometimes you can fix those breaks, other times you can’t. And hell, Melinda and I? We’ve broken ours a few times over.”

  That got my attention. I glanced over at him again, wondering what that meant, how that matrimonial china could get broken a few times over. If he noticed my prying interest all of a sudden, he didn’t let on.

  “Some of those breaks are fixed, others aren’t. Luckily, none of those breaks has been fatal, but it’s a chance we take. Like today, that Tesla I just bought? That might be the deal breaker.” He chuckled like he didn’t care, but I knew that, realistically, Gordo figured that if Melinda kicked his ass to the curb, he could turn up the charm and upsell her on a new and improved Gordo, the version that drove an electric vehicle.

  So I chuckled, too. As a litigator, his wife wasn’t the softest woman ever born, but she made bank, she looked great in a skirt, and Gordo seemed to drool every time she flashed him her killer smile. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  He turned off Lake Shore and stopped at a traffic light, allowing himself to finally look at me. “You want to know how to make a marriage work? You don’t give it a chance to break. There. It’s that fucking simple.”

  This, coming from the guy who had just admitted to dropping and breaking that fragile marriage of his, seemed a little hypocritical. But that was Gordo. He seemed to want for me what he could not have for himself.

  He hit the gas when the light turned green, and I told him that my being out with him these past couple of days was giving my marriage a chance to break. “And I’m not even married yet.”

  “Nah, this won’t break the marriage.” He glanced over me, his eyes surprisingly serious. “But that girl you’ve been waiting for? She will.”

  } i {

  Chapter 31

  Somewhere out in the middle of Lake Michigan, where we could no longer see the Chicago skyline, Josh killed the power and offered refreshments. He didn’t drink alcohol, so neither Gordon nor I agreed to a beer; we all settled with a Diet Pepsi and dug into a bowl of nachos. The boat rocked with the waves, which were substantial enough to provide an explanation as to why so many people might get sick out here.

  While Gordon and Josh talked about the latest theories on people management and the problems facing American financial institutions, I stared out at the vast body of water. To either side of this large 60-foot SeaRay Sundancer sport yacht, all I saw was the cold blue of the lake and followed it to where it met up with the warm blue sky at the horizon line. The sight inspired me.

  As much as I wondered whether I would make it home early enough to have my heart-to-heart chat with Riley, I wished more than anything that Hope could be here on this boat with me. I imagined her smiling, sitting next to me, her hand edging toward mine on this white faux-leather bench, and her fingers brushing against my knuckles, teasing me.

  I also remembered the dinner cruise scene from Our Story, where Olivia and Oliver fell deeper in love. I hated that my thoughts focused on Hope instead of Riley, hated that—

  “Right, Cam?” Gordo said, slapping me so hard on the back that I nearly spit the fantasy out of my mouth. “You’re free this weekend for a boys’ trip to the islands?”

  I gave my best banker grin, held myself back from using my famous senior-manager word (which was “absolutely”), and instead shook my head. “Can’t. We’ve got wedding stuff planned.”

  Gordo scowled, but Josh shrugged. “No worries. How about next weekend? You’ll want to hang out with us; it’s always a blast. My college roommate is the VP of analytics at Citigroup, and he’d love to have a mind like yours on his team.”

  Although next weekend didn’t work either, I gave another banker grin and nodded this time. “Yeah, absolutely—” Fuck, I said it, didn’t I? “—next weekend is perfect.”

  Handshakes and smiles all around.

  Josh turned the captain’s chair around and started the big diesel engines. Before leaning into the throttle, he turned and winked at me like all was good in the world.

  } i {

  Chapter 32

  During the drive home, Gordon asked me where my attention had sailed off during our brief tour on the boat. “This is important shit, dickhead. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not opening all of these doors for me. This is all you, all about finding you a job so you can get your shit straight with Riley.”

  His approach surprised me, catching me off guard. “Funny, I thought you needed me around to make sure you stayed out of trouble. Last night at Landon’s, today on that big boat…what’s your true angle here, Gordo?”

  “You forgot the Tesla,” he reminded me, chuckling but allowing it to fizzle out. “Once Melinda finds out what kind of severance package they gave me, she’ll kill me.” He glanced at me, slowing for the thick traffic up ahead. His eyes seemed to have a pleading quality to them. “Let me enjoy the next few weeks before my wife clues in and puts another crack in the chinaware of our marriage, okay? If you do that for me, if you let me have this brief time to myself, and in the process allow me to introduce you to some real big influencers in the industry, I’ll make sure you’re employed before your wedding day.”

  Gordon had never let me down, so I had no reason to distrust his words now. “But, Gordo? Why me?” He had his own problems, not to mention a huge electric bill to worry about.

  We stopped. With rush hour congestion at its thickest, we weren’t going anywhere very quickly. “Cam, you’re at a turning point in your life right now. Whatever you decide over the next few weeks and months will determine your happiness level forever.” We edged forward less than half a block, then stopped dead again. “I can’t help you with Riley or this Hope girl, but I can help you with the career. Because after everything you’ve done for me and the others at Harris, setting you up with a new gig is the least I can do to show my thanks.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, but then it sunk in, and I started laughing.

  “I’m speaking from my
heart, jackass,” he said, feigning a broken heart as traffic opened up and the BMW reached thirty mph.

  “Nah, you’re speaking from your bank account. You know what Harris paid me—and yes, it was generous, even at my level—but better than all of that, you know what Harris paid you. And you know that the disparity between our pay-outs means you owe a few favors.”

  A momentary silence separated us, then Gordon started laughing. He laughed so hard that tears began pouring down his face, but once he managed to rein in the hysterics, he patted me on the leg.

  No words were exchanged, but I knew it. I knew that whatever Harris had paid him to walk out of that office yesterday had been tremendous. In fact, it had been life-altering because guys like Gordo never signed an employment contract without the benefit of a termination clause that gave most people wet dreams.

  } i {

  Present Day

  Chapter 33

  11:12 AM

  Arriving at Chuck’s this early in the day affords us our choice of table. Because I once mentioned this place to Newman, I suggest something in the back, pointing to a U-shaped booth. The waitress doesn’t object and within a few minutes, we’re seated—Gordo across from me, and Hope between us in the booth’s elbow, her back against the purple-satin wall. The combination of the restaurant’s dim lighting and Hope’s dark, almost-black hair makes her absolutely stunning in my eyes; her beauty captures my attention, something that Gordon notices right away.

  His eyes jump between us as he assesses the situation. “Okay, lovebirds,” Gordo says, clearing his throat. “You want to tell me what’s going on today?”

  I make an elaborate wave toward Hope, giving her the stage.

  Gordon focuses on her. “Hope?” he asks. “Can you tell me what the fuck today is all about?”

  A defiant smirk tickles the edge of her lips. She spares me a glance and says, “Told you I missed him.” Then to Gordon, “I don’t know.” Then back to me, “I think that was a question for you, Cameron. What is today all about?”

  They both turn their attention to me. I shrug and shift my attention to Hope. “You know what I want out of this.”

  She consults Gordon. “I’m moving back out West next week, and—”

  He nods, dismissing her words with an impatient wave that reminds me of his VP days at Harris. “I realize that. And I told him today was a bad idea. I told him it was a bad idea two months ago.” He shakes his head. “Even after the huge fucking mess three years ago. Shit. So why don’t you just tell him you’re not into him? He needs to hear it.” Gordon stares me down. “Cam, you need to let go of this bullshit. You married Riley, and you’re chasing someone who will never love you.”

  In a soft voice, Hope quietly admits, “I love him, Gordon. I love him a lot.”

  It’s the first time Hope has ever admitted to loving me. My head spins at the prospect of this day turning out the way I planned, another first when it comes to Hope.

  Gordon slaps the table then growls one of his favorite words, “Fuck.”

  “But it doesn’t mean I’m not moving—” Hope starts, but Gordon scoots out of the booth and motions at Hope and me to follow him.

  “What is it?” I ask, concerned by how wide his eyes have grown.

  Nodding past me, Gordo says, “It’s Newman. He just walked in. We need to get out of here.”

  Part of me wants to say, fuck it, but the realistic part of me understands that, with the recent shift in the value of our currency, if I don’t keep my job, I have nothing left to pay the bills. Unemployed, with all of my capital in my condo, is a bad scene. So I automatically slide out of the booth before I even realize what I’m doing, and Hope is right there on my heels.

  “Go,” she urges behind me, giving me a soft shove. “He might’ve seen us.”

  I follow Gordon into the kitchen area. A few of the staff glance at us but don’t overthink the situation—I’m guessing people make emergency exits like this all the time. I offer a few nods and smiles to the cooks, or whatever they’re called. I don’t see Chuck back here. I would recognize him because he gets quite the media coverage in the smaller, local publications.

  As I chase Gordon outside, he launches into a semi-sprint, reaching North Michigan and heading left. There are more tourists north of the river, and I figure he plans on getting us lost among the crowds.

  “Where are we going?” Hope asks, not exactly sprinting but walking pretty damn fast. I have to jog to keep up with her.

  Gordon glances back as we reach the bridge, then eases up. “I think we’re safe,” he says, slightly out of breath.

  For the first time since leaving Chuck’s, I feel calm. Hope loves me, and that’s all that really matters.

  } i {

  Chapter 34

  11:23 AM

  Gordon hates crowds. The farther north we walk, the antsier he seems to get. At the Water Tower building, he veers indoors, almost losing us. Hope and I share a glance like we used to, way back when, but follow him inside nonetheless. He heads to the escalators, stretching his arms into the air and rolling his head like he just played an intense game of basketball.

  “Are you all right?” I ask him. On the second level, he points to a boutique clothing store.

  “I need a bit of time,” he admits. “Might grab a sweater or something, spend more of that severance. Give me a minute.” He heads off in that direction, but stops and faces us, his forehead tight and stern. Using his finger for emphasis, he says, “Behave. Both of you. This isn’t high school anymore.”

  I find Hope smirking once Gordon walks away. Alone with her, I start to ask the question that that has been itching at me since our interrupted lunch, but she recognizes the hurt and walks away before the words spill out.

  “I love American Girl,” she says, heading toward the second-level entrance of the American Girl store.

  “If Gordo finds us sneaking off…” I start, glancing back toward the store where he ran off to for some “time.” But I can’t see him, and I realize that spending as much time with Hope as possible might actually help my plight.

  I walk a little faster to catch up to her, but judging by how she speeds up as well, I’m starting to think she might not want to have this chat. So I start it anyway. “Back at the restaurant, what you said—”

  She stops at a display and, with a nervous chuckle, asks me, “Isn’t this crazy?”

  I follow her attention to the display—an American Girl doll on a pony, wearing a helmet and horse-riding gear. Next to her stands another American Girl doll in coveralls and a plaid farmer’s shirt. A third doll wears those tight pants, riding boots, and a whip. “It’s the whip, isn’t it?” I ask, suppressing my grin.

  Hope punches me in the chest, followed by, “Cameron!” and walks to the next display. My pec muscle feels bruised, so I rub it to ease the pain before walking over to the next display with her—a sports themed one, all Chicago teams. But standing a safe two feet away this time, I take in all of her. She knows I’m close, I can feel her awareness, and it makes my heart beat a little faster. My hands ache for her like they have since that day at the airport after high school, since she walked away three years ago. I exist purely for Hope, and I’ll never forget that because nothing I do will allow it.

  I step closer and wrap my arms around her from behind, fully expecting her to beat me away—hit me, kick me, scream—but she doesn’t. She allows me to mold myself to her, to breathe in her coconut hair, and just live.

  “At the restaurant,” I try again, keeping my voice low, my lips close enough to her ear that she would feel the warmth of my words touching her skin.

  “Stop, Cameron,” she whispers her response. It sounds a little hesitant, like it still hurts or she’s afraid. “I can’t do this.”

  Rolling out of my embrace, she starts back toward the mall, but stops. When I reel around, I see why. Gordon stands at the entrance to American Girl Place, his hands on his hips. I don’t know why he won’t enter the store, but he do
esn’t.

  “Come on,” he says with a tone of defeat. “You two are supposed to be adults.”

  Hope exits the store, sidestepping Gordon and walking to the escalators that will take us down to the main level. Gordon doesn’t move, though. He has a firm disappointment on his face.

  “Cam, what are you doing?” He keeps his voice low so as to not make a scene. “Riley’s all yours, she’s everything you ever wanted. You married that girl for a reason. Do you remember that?”

  I stare after Hope, anxiety pounding in my head at the fear that she might keep walking, that our sick day together might come to an early end. When I try to sidestep Gordo like she did, he stops me.

  “Listen to me,” Gordon says, firmer now, his eyes bulging with conviction. “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life. Let this bitch go.”

  I shake my head and shove past Gordon to hurry after Hope. “I can’t,” I tell him. Casting a backward glance at the only person who has ever truly stood by my side, I add, “This isn’t my choice. She belongs here.” I pat my heart, staring him down with the same conviction.

  } i {

  Three Years Ago

  Chapter 35

  By Friday, Gordon had introduced me to a full Rolodex of people he knew throughout the financial services industry—guys he had gone to school with, friends of his family, associates from previous positions at other firms. I felt like his little brother, but the reality was that I couldn’t keep up. I was exhausted, and I needed a break from the fast-paced lifestyle he led.

  When Riley’s alarm sounded, I groaned. She rolled out of bed, and I buried my head in her pillow. I didn’t realize I had fallen back sleep until I felt her hand clawing up my back, her nails digging into my spine as a way to wake me up.